


Something That I Can't Reach

by ashapoop



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dance, Ballet, Gen, M/M, Tap Dancing, Viktor with K, body switching, i see that's a tag, it'll get more serious so i may also change the rating as it continues, kimi no na wa, more tags as the fic continues, who knows - Freeform, your name
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 10:46:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10014353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashapoop/pseuds/ashapoop
Summary: The two men come from different worlds, Viktor being a renowned ballerina from Russia and Yuuri being part of a travelling tap company in America. After years of normalcy, each getting to the top of their careers with national recognition, fate throws a curveball. How will the two keep up appearances when they wake up in the other's body? // Dancer/Your Name AU.





	

Yuuri woke up, gasping loudly as his hands smacked the sheets around him to try and stop his phone alarm. Finding it under his comforter, he slid his finger across the screen and quickly silenced the blaring alarm. Dropping the phone back down into his lap, he let out a long sigh and rubbed at his eyes before blinking slowly and reaching for his glasses on the side table but they weren’t there. As a matter of fact, that wasn’t even Yuuri’s bedside table. Which he could see perfectly. 

  


“Wah!” he yelled as he kicked off his comforter and ran to the full length mirror leaning on the wall. 

  


Looking into the mirror, he saw someone that was the polar opposite of who he actually was. This wasn’t Yuuri Katsuki… this was some sort of _god_. His body was pale and slender, sculpted calves and sinewy arms. Whoever this man was, he was three inches taller than Yuuri and had eyes like the ocean, a pale and beautiful aquamarine. A shaky hand with long fingers ran through light, long hair, pooling past his shoulders then continued to run down his chiseled jaw. 

  


_He was beautiful._

  


A whining from behind the door broke him from his absorption, causing a wrinkle between his brows. Opening the door slowly, a small bear attacked him, bringing him to the ground quickly as it lapped at Yuuri’s face. Letting out a gasp, it quickly dissolved into laughter as he ran his hand through the bear’s fur -- it was a dog! Scratching between the dog’s shoulder blades for a moment, Yuuri beamed before one hand moved down to check his name tag. 

  


“Hi Makkachin!” Yuuri beamed, sitting back up on his knees and ruffling Makkachin’s ears. “I’ve always wanted a poodle and look at you! Maybe this dream isn’t so bad after all!” 

  


Yuuri let out another laugh as the dog licked the side of his face before a different alarm went off from the phone somewhere in the covers behind him. Standing up with a bit of difficulty, he picked up the cell phone and peered at the text on the alarm. _Get in the shower (last call!)_. Yuuri sat down on the edge of the bed then, unlocking the phone and seeing a photo of Makkachin practically smiling himself as the home screen. Tapping the alarm app, he saw a few more alarms that would span for the next hour and a half, ending with _Meet Minako at the studio!_. 

  


_Who the hell was Minako?_

  


\--- 

  


The alarm was loud, just what Viktor needed to wake up, and with a swift swipe he silenced his phone. Clasping his arms together, he stretched with a loud yawn before running a hand through his silver hair, pushing it out of his face quickly. The man blinked a few times before pushing off his comforter and standing up, feet bare against the icy cold wooden floor. The clock hanging above his bedroom door ticked loudly, urging him to get to the studio despite his aching joints. Why was he so sore? It felt, to Viktor, as if he’d been asleep all day. 

  


Glancing into the mirror, Viktor saw some of his bangs were sticking in the air from when he pushed them back. A laugh escaped his lips as he fixed it quickly, glad he didn’t have to shower this morning, before he heard the familiar morning scraping. A smile tugged at Viktor’s lips as he crouched down in front of his door, hand on the knob, as he hummed into the crack, hearing a whine sound in return from a lack of attention. With a loud laugh now, he threw the door open and opened his arms wide for his companion, grinning as he was eye to eye with his curly poodle. 

  


“Good morning Makka,” he murmured as he ruffled the dog’s ears before stroking down his back. “You want breakfast, hmm? That’s why you’re coming by me?”

  


Another smile and ruffle came from Viktor before he fluidly stood back up and walked towards the kitchen, Makkachin at his heels and panting softly. The large apartment was silent except for the sound of the dog food falling into the bowl, Makkachin practically pushing his owner out of the way to eat his breakfast, causing another laugh from Viktor. After quickly tying his silver hair into a knot, he ripped open a package of oatmeal, holding each leg in a stretch as he watched it heat up. There was something about his left ankle that felt off, but it still lacked the pain that came with an actual injury. Had he rolled his ankle at practice? Not that he could remember. With a quick shake of the head, Viktor ate his oatmeal quickly before hearing his alarm go off from his bedroom once again. It was time to head out. 

  


Viktor pulled his trench coat closer to his body as he walked the few blocks to the studio, chin held high as he dodged the pedestrians on the busy sidewalks of St. Petersburg. Ducking into the studio, he headed down the long hallway to the dressing rooms to put his things away, meeting eyes with his younger friend Yuri Plisetsky in the mirrors, the younger man simply sneering at him. 

  


“Hey Nikiforov, remember who I am today?” 

  


The silver haired man felt his duffle bag slip off his shoulders as his face crumpled into confusion, turning around quickly to watch the blonde’s lips curl up into a sort of twisted smirk. Shaking his head, he sat down beside his bag, pulling out his shoes and bending them this way and that to prepare them for the day, ignoring Yuri’s laughing. He really wasn’t letting up on this, was he? 

  


“What are you talking about, Yuri?”  


“What, you don’t remember now?” 

  


Another laugh sounded through the room, prompting a familiar red head to pop her head around the door. Her eyes screamed curiosity until she looked at Viktor, letting out a loud laugh before walking into the room, leaning an elbow on Yuri’s shoulder. Viktor say back on the heels of his palms, feeling frustration spread through his body at the two before shaking his head, hair pooling over his shoulders and falling into his face. His fingers ran through the long locks roughly as he pulled his hair into a tight bun, oceanic eyes narrowing as he let out a slow breath. 

  


_“What?”_  


“What should we mention first?” Mila asked Yuri with a sly smile. “Him texting Minako where the studio was? Him forgetting our names? Him forgetting his _own_ name?” 

  


His eyes widened as he looked at the two, mouth twisted before letting out a small laugh of his own, surprising the other two. He twisted around, a few cracks coming from his back, as he fished in his coat pocket for his cell phone. What the two were saying was ridiculous -- while he was out of it this morning, there’s no possible way that that could have ever happened. Viktor was sometimes aloof and often forgetful, but never to the extent they were describing. Swiping away the lock screen of himself and Makkachin curled up on their couch, he pulled up his inbox, tapping Minako’s conversation, and smiled up at the two in preparation of foiling whatever they had planned to prank him with that morning. 

  


Minako  


_Can you stay later tonight?_  


Viktor  


_Later?_  


Minako  


_You better not be drunk. The studio._  


Viktor  


_Where’s the studio?_

  


  


It felt like ice was washing through Viktor’s veins as he cheeks filled with heat, a contradiction that sent a shiver down his spine. The two laughing felt like they were miles away as he tried to wrap his mind around whatever the hell had just happened. There was no recollection of ever sending these texts, nor was there any reason he’d never have to ask where the studio was. He was there every day, every month, every year. His past birthday was spent from sunup to sundown sweating and spinning in front of the wall of mirrors in Practice Room C. How could this have been possible? 

  


“What happened?” Viktor asked, an edge in his tone that made Mila’s laughter stop.  


“You walked in looking like a lost puppy. You trailed after Georgi here and when Yuri greeted you, you asked who he was. Cue yelling, cue cursing, cue me coming in to break it up. By the time we got to the studio, you didn’t know a degage from a rond de jambe.”  


“I… that’s not possible.”  


“It was weird,” Yuri cut in, shoving Mila off his shoulder so he could rest his arm on the back of his chair. “When I said my name, you sort of gasped. _You too_ , you asked. Fucking freak. How did you get that drunk at 6AM?”  


“I wish I knew,” Viktor muttered, putting his phone down and pulling on his shoes, standing up and groaning.

  


The rest of the day was spent between waves of sweat, tiring limbs, and a complaining Yuri at every water break. He never grew tired of it, of the demanding ways of ballet and the way he and the other dancers had to work together and against one another to create an image that Minako would be satisfied with, sharp claps filling the room as they all gasped for breath after a final crescendo. She would push them and make them repeat the smallest of steps until their stomachs growled for lunch and then dinner, sometimes keeping them until early the next morning depending how far they were in their season. For the night, the dancers were released at 8:45PM, and Viktor couldn’t help but catch Mila whispering her thanks to Yuri. He had been especially vocal throughout practice, usually when he had plans he wanted to have time to get to. 

  


Sitting back down next to his bag, Viktor pulled off his shoes and massaged his long feet, eyeing the reddish marks along the tops of them. He made a mental note to stop by a corner shop and pick up some balm before he dug in his bag for his sweater, hands closing around a piece of folded paper. Quirking his brow, Viktor pulled it out and let his head tilt to the side before looking around the room. Yuri had cleared out quickly, Georgi trailing after, leaving Viktor alone. Who would leave him a note in his bag like some sort of child? He unfolded it swiftly, reading over the letters again and again, the message written in a hand he didn't recognize, leaving Viktor a whirlwind of confusion. 

  


_Who are you?_

  


**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, I hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it! I'm not sure when I'll be updating, but I'll have a schedule soon enough! Please let me know your thoughts in the comments, all is incredibly appreciated! Thanks!! ~~Also, holy italics? __~~


End file.
